Imagine
by kd0501
Summary: Can Constance and Imogen defy the odds and be together happily? First attempt at FF, prob crap but it's done for my amusement. Haven't quite grasped how the site works yet.. Plus doing allof this from my iPad,so I'm sorry if it's bit disjointed, it's hard to proofread. HB/ID femslash, don't like, don't read.


Constance Hardbroom sat down at the table in the staffroom. She had had a long afternoon, her first potions class had been disrupted by a silly mistake that caused her lab to be evacuated because of the thunderstorm that one of the girls had accidentally created trying to divert her attention from the awful attempt at making the warming potion she had set, and her second contained Mildred Hubble. She sighed and looked down at the pile of marking she had brought with her. She really didn't have the energy for this now.

She cast a wary eye towards the stationary cupboard, suddenly aware that she had not seen Davina Bat, her most eccentric and infuriating colleague, all day. Normally there is some caterwauling that she could hear a mile off and this hadn't happened. She was pondering this without really caring about Miss Bat's location when the staffroom door opened. She started slightly at the surprise intrusion before slipping her mask of infallibility and impenetrability back on to her face.  
"Oh, good evening, Miss Drill," she said, curtly nodding at the gym mistress.  
"Hello, Constance," Miss Drill replied.  
Why was it that Imogen Drill always insisted on referring to her so informally? Constance remembered how earlier she had thought that Davina was her most infuriating colleague, but that wasn't entirely true. This short haired, boyish blonde woman was more entitled to that label. There was a flicker of another emotion, but she pushed it away. If she was honest, she didn't even know what that emotion was. She figured it was just irritation and tiredness taking over her, and she excused herself quickly.  
"Excuse me, Miss Drill, I have to oversee dinner and then I really must go and plan for tomorrow," she said, folding her arms across her chest and disappearing before Imogen could say anything in reply.  
Imogen sat down heavily after the witch had left. Something about the interaction hadn't felt quite right.

Imogen Drill had always thought of herself as a pretty woman, for goodness' sake it wasn't like she hadn't had an endless supply of men and, though she hated admitting it, women trying to capture her heart for their own. She always told herself she just wasn't into women like that, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she could feel something else, something different, when it came to Constance Hardbroom. She couldn't help but feel that Constance was a lost cause, there was no chance of her feeling anything other than contempt for any other person, but Imogen refused to give up on the challenge. She had to have a softer side, didn't she?

Constance stood in her room. She had been to see Miss Cackle after she had vanished from the staffroom, careful to appear in the hall outside her office rather than materialise inside it – she was meticulously particular about manners and decorum. She had asked Miss Cackle if she could go straight to her room, rather than supervising dinner. She had the beginnings of a migraine, she had told her, and needed to take something to ease the pain, and lie down. Miss Cackle had thought that it had taken a great show of courage to ask this of her as it was unlike Constance to admit feeling pain and needing the quiet, and had agreed without question to supervise dinner herself.  
She felt bad about lying to Miss Cackle; she did not have a headache, she needed to escape the emotions that had jolted through her at the sight of Imogen in the staffroom, obviously flushed and sweating from her afternoon free-time run. Constance didn't like to think of what it meant, and tried hard to force the thoughts out of her head. This couldn't be happening to her. Imogen Drill irritated her, more than almost anything else in the world. She resolved to push Imogen further away than ever, show her superiority and her power, and above all, no trace of anything other than her usual mask of coldness. Constance Hardbroom did not do feelings. Of any kind.

In the morning, Constance slowly walked to the staffroom. She walked as she needed the time to prepare herself, making sure that the girls were doing everything they were supposed to be at 7 in the morning, that is to say, waking up and preparing to go down for breakfast. It was Davina's turn to watch over them as they ate, so there was not much chance of anyone else being in the staffroom. Amelia would be eating in her office, and Imogen should still be out for her morning run. Constance would never understand why Imogen ran so much; the sweating and the tiredness would put her off every time.  
She was wrong. Well, partly so. Amelia was in her office, but Imogen.. Well, Imogen was there, having obviously skipped her run.  
"Good morning Constance," she chirped at her. "When you have eaten, Miss Cackle would like to see you in her office."  
"Thankyou, Miss Drill, I shall go now and see what it is she wants from me," she replied.  
"Before you go, Constance, I'd like to tell you I didn't have any part in this." Imogen said tentatively.  
Constance was confused. She didn't have any part in what?

Amelia Cackle was waiting for this. Constance Hardbroom did not take kindly to her lessons being cancelled, especially for what she thought were trivial purposes, and a 'mini-break' to an Outdoors Pursuit Centre left her in no doubt as to what was coming. Imogen for a week. And of course – Serge duBois.  
"Imogen has said that Serge has invited the girls to his outdoor centre for the week – he will have the boys there and I feel it would be encouraging to have them mix with other children their own age. I feel that the most qualified member of staff to accompany Miss Drill and the girls is you. I cannot send Davina as she is a little excitable, and I cannot go myself as I still have to run the school for the other pupils."

"But, Amelia.." her voice trailed off as she realised what Miss Cackle was saying. A week in the outdoors with Imogen and Serge? She could feel the hurt and jealousy that she had inexplicably felt last time the two groups had met rising inside her again. She quashed it quickly, returning to the task in hand. "Amelia, I can't go on that trip. I have lessons to plan, exams to write.."  
Amelia allowed herself the slightest hint of a smile. Oh, how predictable you are, Constance, she thought. She had the answers ready planned. "The girls will need you on this trip. Someone has to watch over them in case of any incidents as last time."  
This would not fail. If Amelia could appeal to Constance's protective instinct then it was already a done deal.  
"Fine, Miss Cackle, I shall go. But let me say I'm not happy about it."

Constance stormed back to the staffroom, her mind racing, filled with all the things she was going to say to Imogen when she found her. When she arrived at the door, however, she was nowhere to be seen. She thought she would try her bedroom, but then she glanced out the window and saw her there, out by her sports shed. She must have been going to find some things to take with her to this Adventure Camp. Constance shook her head, folded her arms, and disappeared.

Imogen could feel someone watching her, the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle and she busied herself looking for the whistle that Serge had given her at the end of the last camping trip. She couldn't show up without it as she didn't want to appear to have lost it. Suddenly, after a couple of minutes a voice spoke commandingly.  
"Miss Drill." Now she knew who had been watching her. Constance Hardbroom had an unfortunate penchant for invisibly watching for a few minutes before materialising again and Imogen sighed, ready for the confrontation that she knew was coming.  
"How can I help you, Miss Hardbroom?" she said, wishing that she was anywhere but here. Constance waved her hands and instantly the shed was enveloped in a silencing spell. She did not want the girls to witness her lose control and shout so angrily at Miss Drill.  
"An Outdoors week? At an adventure camp? With Serge?" she practically spat the name at Imogen, who recoiled from the venom in the words. "That ended so well last time, you had to beg me to do the spell to counteract the Foster's Effect, you nearly got all the girls killed while you and Serge" she spat his name again, "flirted like teenagers. The girls are witches, Miss Drill, you have to watch them all the time. It has to be hard for a stupid little non-witch such as yourself to understand this, but we witches – we don't actually care for sports, adventure weeks, camping!"  
She paused there to take breath, and glanced up at Imogen, whose green eyes were shining with tears that she refused to cry. Constance could see she'd gone too far, but refused to stop her tirade.  
"This is why I have never wanted you here – you do not understand what it means to be a witch, because you are not one yourself!"  
With these words Constance walked out of the shed. Imogen followed, still refusing to let the tears fall from her eyes.  
"CONSTANCE HARDBROOM!" she shouted at her. "COME BACK HERE!" But she had gone.  
***

Constance knew she had gone too far, said too much, and what was worse was that she hadn't meant it. She had gotten carried away, and the words just fell from her mouth before she could think about them. She had seen the hurt and confusion in Imogen's eyes, and seen the tears that had threatened to fall. She should never have said that she had never wanted her here, as while she was against a non-witch teaching at the school to start with she had to admit that Imogen was doing a good job, and all the girls seemed to respect her, and like her. More than she could say for herself. She had the respect of the girls, that much was true, but it was not down to her likeability, no, it was down to her sheer intimidation and power. A solitary tear slid down her cheek.

Imogen walked slowly inside the castle, making her way towards her bedroom. She felt humiliated and wondered if everyone in the castle felt like Constance, that she shouldn't be here, and that they had never wanted her to be there. She told herself that Constance didn't mean it, that she was just angry about the trip that would take the girls away from their regular magic classes. Try as she might, however, Imogen couldn't shake the thought that maybe Constance was just the voice piece for the general consensus of opinion. She changed direction abruptly as she made a decision.  
Imogen Drill was going to go and speak to Miss Cackle.

Miss Cackle had never heard anything like it. She could hardly believe that her deputy had lost control of herself so badly and had said such terrible things to Imogen, while making her believe that the whole school believed the same ridiculous things as her. Although Amelia could not believe that Miss Hardbroom had meant the things she said. Surely the woman could realise when she was hurting another? There was nothing else for it. She would have to speak to Constance.

Constance had been expecting the arrival of Amelia ever since she had disappeared and Miss Drill had stormed off. She had watched the younger woman for a few seconds before she reappeared in her bedroom and she was not proud of the reaction she had provoked in Imogen. She sighed heavily and waited for Amelia to start speaking.  
"Constance, I really hope that what I hear from Imogen isn't true, that you didn't say all those horrible, nasty things to her. Please give me the full story, Constance – the truth please, nothing else."  
Constance took a breath. "I did say those things to her, Amelia, and I'm not proud of it. I wish I hadn't said them, I wish.." but what she wished didn't come out as she stopped speaking abruptly. She realised she didn't want to admit what it was she wished.  
Amelia, realising that Constance was closer than she had ever been to admitting what the problem with Miss Drill was, kept quiet.  
"I just wish we would get along," she finished. This was not the whole truth, of course; Constance would never admit to anyone that she liked Imogen. "She's alright really, you know."  
"Well, Con," Constance shuddered at the use of the familiar nickname, "you are going to have to go and talk to her, apologise, and mean it. I have Imogen threatening to quit, threatening to leave immediately. I know she has said it before, and not followed through with it, but I do not want to have to explain to the girls what it is that has caused Miss Drill to leave. If you cannot sort it out, you will have to explain to the girls why she has left, what you have said to her, and why you said it."  
Constance didn't want that. It was enough that Miss Cackle was making her go and see Imogen without having the threat of having to explain to the school that she said such nasty things to her.  
"Yes, Miss Cackle," she replied in a small voice, feeling like a naughty teenager. "I will go now."  
"You will have to sort this out before this trip that you are going on. You definitely are still going with Imogen and the girls," she added as she saw the look on Constance's face.

Constance had never felt so small in her life. The walk to Imogen's bedroom had taken a lot of courage she didn't know she had. She was a proud woman, often described as haughty, and she didn't like apologising, as it felt like weakness to her and she was not weak.  
She arrived at the door, debating for a moment whether to just turn around and walk away then decided against it and knocked. Imogen's clear voice called out for her visitor to come in and so Constance took a deep breath, turned the handle and entered.  
"Oh. It's you." Imogen said, sitting down and turning her back on Constance.  
"Look, Imogen, I have a few things I'd like to say to you," she started, but she began to stutter.  
"I don't want to hear you call me stupid, or have to sit here while you tell me again that no one wants me here and never have. It's alright, Constance, I'm leaving as soon as we are back from this trip and you will never have to deal with me again. I hope you're pleased," replied Imogen, testily.  
"Look, Imogen," she tried again, trying desperately not to stutter, "I have to say some things and maybe then you will reconsider your decision. I know the girls would not want you to leave, and neither would the staff. That does include me, you know," she said.  
Imogen raised an eyebrow. Constance noticed, and tried to plough on with what she had come to say. She swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of the pride that would prevent her speaking, and said, "Imogen, I'm sorry about what I said to you. I was angry, though it is no excuse, and I did not mean the things I said. I do not think you are stupid, and I do not think that no one has ever wanted you here, because, believe it or not, I have always appreciated you. And your subject. No, Imogen, let me finish speaking," she said to the floor as Imogen made to speak, "and I really do mean it when I say I regret it more than anything."  
Imogen turned around and took her hand in hers. Constance did not notice, she was too busy thinking of her apology and what she still wanted to say to the blonde woman in front of her.  
"Look at me." Imogen's voice had softened slightly, and Constance found the courage to look at her. Imogen's green eyes were filled with concern, and the hurt that was there last time Constance looked into them, but they had softened and suddenly Constance noted the flecks of gold as she lost herself in them. "I'm not going to pretend that you didn't say those things, that you didn't hurt me, Constance, but I am willing to accept your apology. I had already decided to stay, I would miss the girls too much and frankly I love to teach them sports, whether you appreciate them or not. It builds team spirit and promotes health. This weekend trip is the ideal break for us," she said.  
Suddenly Constance noticed that Imogen was holding her hand. Snatching her hand back, she stood up.  
"Look, Imogen, I'm sorry for what I said. I just hope we can move on from this and get along for the week that we are away," she said, folded her arms, and vanished.  
Imogen stared at the spot where she had stood merely seconds ago, and sighed. She had thought that she was getting closer to Constance, that she was going to open up, lose herself in the moment and Imogen had just wanted to hold her. She was wrong, apparently.  
Constance Hardbroom was a hard woman to understand.


End file.
